“We might have to wait for Henri-Two to fall asleep,” I say.
“She’s not that loud,” Rocky Horror says, leading the way through washed-up sand and around a fallen tree. The moon above us is the only light we have.
“If she gets any louder it’s going to be a problem,” I warn.
“You’re being louder than she is,” Andrew says. I glance back at him but remain silent.
Once we’re within earshot of the guards—their voices barely audible over theshhhhhof the ocean—we stop. Rocky Horror turns and puts a finger up to his lips. Daphne turns to the kids and reminds them of the fun game she taught them where they all try to be silent and whoever wins gets a piece of candy.
We don’t have candy for them, but all the kids put their fingers to their mouths, some of them smiling and probably thinking it really isjust a game. But one look at the Kid and I knowhedoesn’t, and I feel like his anxiety is all my fault. And maybe it is.
I open my mouth to tell Andrew so he can reassure him, but he’s distracted by one of the younger girls, who is whispering something to him. So I nudge the Kid with my right hand to get his attention. He looks up at me, then my hand. I turn it over, offering it to him, and after a moment’s pause he takes it.
Rocky Horror continues, walking behind a Chevron station that has collapsed onto its empty gas pumps. He leads us to a quiet residential street a block off Route 1 and we walk quickly, quietly.
We’re far enough away that we can’t hear what the guards are talking about, but every so often we can hear their laughter drifting through the broken trees. Laughter is good; it means they aren’t on high alert yet.
Once their lights are a good ways behind us—and the residential street curves back toward Route 1—Rocky Horror turns and nods.
“Okay,” he whispers. “From here, it’s a straight shot up the Overseas Highway. But we need to move quick, because if they catch us there, the only place we can go is over the side into the ocean.”
“You’re so motivating,” Andrew deadpans. “I hope you coached Little League before the world ended.”
Rocky Horror nods. “I was the captain of an all-transmasc softball team.”
“Pun team name?” Andrew asks.
“No-Balls-All-Strikes.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“Ready?”
We turn onto Route 1 and start across the bridge.
It takes three very long, terrifying hours to cross. Every few minutes I look back, expecting to see headlights. But once there’s land on either side of us again, there still aren’t any cars.
“Maybe they didn’t notice we left yet,” Andrew says.
Cara sounds less convinced. “They think wewouldn’tleave. They’re looking for us on the Keys.”
She’s right. They probably think we’re hiding there or that we just went back to the motel or our houses. They won’t suspect we’re gone until they notice Amy and Rocky Horror are missing as well. Of course they’ll check the Keys first, starting with the places we frequent. Then someone will mention that maybe we left.
I turn back, but there are still no headlights.
It’s a few hours before we see another road. The kids are tired, complaining that they want to go home, and Daphne, Kelly, and Andrew try their best to calm them or to carry the ones who are especially tired.
“We need to find a way to transport them,” I tell Rocky Horror. “They can’t walk the whole way.”
He nods. “We’ll see what we can find.”
A little before dawn, we stop and take shelter in an open storefront. Andrew helps Daphne and Kelly get the kids set up, and they’re all passed out in seconds.
“Someone should keep watch,” Cara says. “So we know which way they go when they come looking.”
“I’ll take first watch,” I say.
“You sure?” Andrew asks quietly. “I can stay up.”
